Christopher Stevens

Two Doors Down review

The production had the feel of a stage play, and lots of the lines had been polished to a high shine. One of the funniest was nouveau riche Colin's braggery about the £12 dram of single malt whisky he had sampled: 'Peaty but not too peaty, smoky but not too smoky - perfect with a dash of Diet Coke.'

A three-hour compilation called Greatest Stand Up Comedians proved this to exhaustion, by butchering the stage routines of 50 famous comics.

Without the build-up, the timing and the audience rapport, most of the gags weren't even recognisable as jokes. It was like listening to five-second snatches of songs - pointless and frustrating. One of the rare moments worth a laugh came from Lily Savage: 'I've got a brother, our Archie. I hate him. The only reason I speak to him is you never know when you'll need a kidney.'

Shows like this are mostly padding, waffle from talking heads with just a taste of the real thing. That's usually because short clips can be broadcast under 'fair usage' agreements, with no fee; longer clips cost money.

So most of the three hours boiled down to different ways of saying something was funny: 'He's just an incredibly brilliant comedian'; 'Hilarious, I mean hilarious'; 'He is one of the comedy greats, no doubt.'

In case we hadn't noticed how incredibly brilliantly hilarious this all was, narrator Meera Syal kept saying, 'There's more merriment, wit and hilarity on its way,' or, 'We've giggled, tittered and guffawed our way to the end.'

But the real reason for the one-star rating is that Michael McIntyre was rated the seventh most uproarious comic ever . . . 37 places above Frankie Howerd. That's not even funny.

One of the major hazards was averted last night when Celebrity Juice's Christmas Special was screened early - but if a teenage relative unwraps a Keith Lemon box set under the tree and you cannot escape, here's how to cope.

Lemon is a gameshow host played by comedian Leigh Francis - he's grindingly upbeat and thick as walrus blubber. Imagine Keith Chegwin with the swear filter switched off, and you've got him. His act is a stream of four-letter words and single entendres, while his guests grin fixedly through the humiliation.

Lemon's panel game, Celebrity Juice, is a cross between a chat show and the Seventies children's romp Tiswas.

The highlight of the Christmas Special was Peter Andre getting coloured gunk poured over his head. Even Noel Edmonds has grown out of that kind of TV.

My advice is to keep your paper party hat to hand. If you do get trapped into watching this dross, pull it down over your eyes and pretend to be asleep.

Nicholas Parsons: Irritating man must get a gong

A campaign is afoot to have Nicholas Parsons knighted. Sir Nicholas? Is it really such a ridiculous notion? He's a unique performer - pompous, infuriating, the butt of all jokes. What many people fail to realise, including fellow actors, is that this is a deliberate persona, a comic front.

David Walliams profile

The childhood anguish that drives David Walliams' insatiable hunger for success: How the comedian tried to win his father's affection, but feels he never came close.

This amiable chit-chat is as exciting as a cup of cocoa

Unfortunately, a charming interviewer is no good to anyone. Sergeant Wilson from Dad's Army would make a better job of interrogating a prisoner than Miss Millican.

James Corden's the master of the spoof

If the plot had been at all predictable, the melange of styles could have been self-indulgent. But the story kept surprising us.

London Irish wasn't over-burdened with storyline. It was a series of sketches, loosely stitched together and then buried under shovel-loads of stereotypes.

The characters were four twentysomething friends - let's call them Ditzy, Grumpy, Earnest and Thick - trying to organise a pub quiz to win a magnum of vodka. They'd do anything for vodka, you see. Those Irish boozers, aren't they hilarious?

But there's much more to racist Irish cliches than just incontinent alcoholism. They make bizarre leaps of logic, they have riotous religious hang-ups and uproarious sexual obsessions, they swear like how's-your-father and the impish little rascals always know where to get drugs and guns.

Ditzy was fretting because her psychotic jailbird boyfriend was a Protestant, Earnest's mate got his hand blown off with a shotgun, and Thick wore a dress. It was as much fun as a Friday night in the drunk cells at Brixton police station.

If you think Mrs Brown's Boys is far too tasteful and restrained, you might like London Irish. But I can't imagine why.

Doc Martin review

The quickest way to kill off a comedy is to throw a wedding. So we could only hope Doc Martin's nuptials would come a cropper before Martin Clunes and Caroline Catz reached the altar.

Through the Keyhole review

If you don't like cheap TV with low-rent celebs, scripted ad libs and an audience that applauds on cue like trained seals, this is the sort of show you really won't like at all.